Behind The Wall
by StormsInNeverland
Summary: There's only so many times you can listen to his screams for help before something inside you has to give. There's only so much you can take before saving him becomes your everything.


**Title: Behind The Wall**

**Summary: There's only so many times you can listen to his screams for help before something inside you has to give. There's only so much you can take before saving him becomes your everything.**

**Warnings: Domestic violence, including rape.**

**Pairing: Klaine, Kurt/OC**

**This is based on the Tracy Chapman song _Behind the Wall_, but I changed the ending because I couldn't bear to do that to our boys. If you don't know it, please listen to it. And if you ever know of another person (boy or girl, straight or gay) going through some form of domestic violence, let them know they're not alone.**

**And I promise I'll update other things soon, I just needed to get this out of my system!**

**-Kyle**

**Over and out.**

Behind The Wall

_Last night I heard the screaming  
Loud voices behind the wall  
Another sleepless night for me  
It won't do no good to call  
The police  
Always come late  
If they come at all_

_**~ Behind the Wall, Tracy Chapman**_

_("I told you I would be home late tonight! I fucking told you. But do you listen to me? No. You're too busy skipping around in your own little world to listen to what I have to say. And I'm tired of it. You think I'm eating this cold shit? No! And no, I don't want it reheating!")_

New York has always been Blaine Anderson's dream, but it takes him until the age of twenty-five to get there. He moves into a small apartment that restricts him to parties of no more than four (including himself); it has central heating that likes to pick random nights to work and it has air conditioning that seems to take pleasure in turning itself on whenever the weather outside is coldest.

But it's relatively cheap, and it's clean, so he can't complain. Not on his current salary, at least.

On his first night, a grand total of one box unpacked fully so far, he finds out that the paper thin walls are in fact made of _tissue paper_. Behind the back wall of his bedroom comes a gentle mumble of voices: the couple living next door. He hasn't met them yet.

A rumbling mutter. Delicate laughter and a snappy retort. The words are unclear, muffled. But still there.

Blaine wonders vaguely if there's any chance they'll be able to recommend a decent coffee shop close by as he slips into an easy slumber.

_(It isn't an every night affair. But when it happens, it's an all night affair.)_

Blaine meets them the next morning.

It's his day off, so he can sort through his things, and at eight o'clock sharp (he's well rested; hates sleeping in late) he bounces his path to answer a rapping knock on the door. He swings it open to a reveal a tall, slender figure. Chestnut hair and magical eyes and a light voice and pale skin and a name. Kurt.

And Kurt offers not only a home baked pie (cherry, although he promises another when he finds out Blaine's favourite is blueberry) but also a helping hand with the boxes. They bond over a mutual love of Julia Child, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Alexander McQueen.

Kurt invites Blaine over for dinner. He accepts. Because the closest he has to a New York friend is the fact that Wes flies over for a business conference every three months or so. He needs friends.

And at the dinner (home made lasagne, almost as good as the pie) Blaine meets Aaron.

They're a vibrant couple. Flamboyant Kurt and vivacious Aaron. They exude as much colour and life as the walls of their apartment, which are all but painted with rainbows. Blaine ignores the twinge of envy in the pit of his stomach to see a home so thoroughly _lived in_.

He isn't used to homey touches yet.

They part on a note of laughter and friendship, and the offer of help carrying furniture if Blaine decides to buy the coffee table he's been considering getting to fill his already crowded living room.

_("Get your hands off me! No! Don't you fucking dare! No! Fuck no! No! No! Get off! Please! Stop! Now, you asshole! Get out of my face!")_

Things are neutral for almost three weeks.

He passes his neighbours on the stairs or down the corridor (not just Kurt and Aaron; Mr Jackson and Gregory Issett and his son and Lucy White and old Mrs Weatherby, too) and he nods and says hello, and sometimes chats for a few minutes if they have the time. He gets used to his work schedule and acquaints himself with the area, checks out the little coffee shop that his closest neighbours, the ones behind his bedroom wall, recommended on that first full day.

The first glitch happens nineteen days after their little get together.

Blaine gets home at half past six in the evening. He curls up in his bed with Jasmine, his Labrador, curled into his side as he spoons large dollops of chocolate ice cream into his mouth to make himself feel better after a day of hell from his boss.

He watches a series of films in a Cary Grant marathon on the crappy little television at the end of his bed. He snuggles with Jasmine and informs her that she's probably the best thing about New York so far, and even so, _she_ was one of the things he'd brought with him.

Which really is quite sad to think about.

And then at seventeen minutes past midnight he hears voices behind him.

They're unnoticeable at first, but they get louder and louder. When there's shouting, it's with a blush that Blaine acknowledges to himself that he can make out every word that's being said.

_("You fucking know where I've been! I work for a living, remember? I pay the bills, remember? Me! I've been at work. No. Yes, of course I've been at work, what the fuck do you- You keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, _sweetheart_! Don't you dare accuse me of things like that!")_

The first one lasts for almost two hours, and then there's silence. Blissful, calming, eerie silence.

Blaine falls asleep with his body curled around Jasmine's, unsure whether he's protecting the dog or himself from the words that had echoed between the two apartments.

And then everything goes back to normal.

He sees Kurt the next day, and there's a glint of embarrassment in the pale man's eye. He knows Blaine must have heard them.

But Blaine is a gentleman. A dapper young gentleman who puts Kurt at ease by making polite, charming small talk. And soon they are smiling and laughing again, and Blaine leaves the conversation feeling more fulfilled than he does after an entire day of solid work. Because this half-stranger already means more to him than his job.

And so the days go by.

Wes visits while on his conference trip. He sleeps on the couch, because Blaine can hardly afford a two bedroom apartment, and they eat pizza and reminisce about the Dalton days.

Blaine finds out all about David successfully becoming a surgeon, and he informs Wes of Nick's recent decision to finally break away from his family's clutches and pursue his artistry career, and they laugh together over the news of Jeff (long time cynic; no time for romance) already married with two children and a third one on the way.

It's fun, and easy, and Blaine realises how much he misses his old friends. They swear to have a Warbler reunion soon (and maybe Sebastian's invite will _tragically _go missing in the post.)

Blaine talks about New York. Gives the expected bitch-fest over his boss, and Wes reminds him that if he holds out long enough, he'll soon be able to record music of his own, instead.

Wes is like that. He never lets Blaine forget about _why _he's doing what he's doing, no matter how crazy it is. Like moving to New York to chase pipe dreams.

He tells Wes about the area. About the coffee shop. (Wes insists he must try it before he flies back home.) About the park where Jasmine discovered a newfound love of chasing squirrels. About the neighbours.

But he doesn't tell Wes about the voices talking (shouting) and arguing (fighting.) It only happened the once (twice) and it wasn't that bad (but what about next time?)

When it's finally time for Wes to leave, Blaine makes a renewed vow to form more friendships. They won't replace the Warblers, but he needs a fresh start.

And when he has a coffee with Kurt on his day off, and they debate the qualities and failings of Sondheim, he realises he's already started just that.

_(In all fairness, it was just shouting for a long time. Couples do that, right? Just like lamps _do _break, and things _do _hit walls. Right?)_

The first time Blaine feels guilty about ignoring his neighbours is on a Sunday.

It's a rainy Sunday, the kind usually spent curled lazily in bed all day with a loved one. But Blaine doesn't have a loved one, just his dog. So he cleans up his tidy apartment and writes emails to people he's already spoken to at least twice this week. Then he goes to the window to watch the rain.

The apartments supposedly have balconies, but Blaine feels kind of cheated. Because in all honesty, they're too small to be given such a grand title as _balconies_. Just a tiny bit of space, and then a hard metal rail.

He watches from the window as the rain trickles down those metal rails, then looks beyond, over, past. He watches cars zooming down the street, and a few brave souls dashing beneath umbrellas in the downpour. And one couple (teenagers, boy and girl) clasping hands and running along the pavement in shorts and shirts, soaked to the bone and dancing in the puddles.

Nothing has ever looked so appealing before.

He's so distracted by this young couple, in love with each other and the rain, that he almost doesn't notice the balcony next to his own.

Kurt's drenched. He's sitting on the balcony, his slender legs slotted neatly through the metal rails with his face pressing against the bars. With one hand he hugs himself, and with the other he fiddles with something. He brings it up to his lips, takes a drag, blows the smoke into the damp air.

Blaine decides that Kurt doesn't suit cigarettes. He wonders, in this rain, how long it must have taken the young man to even light the damn thing.

He wants to tap on the window, wave his hand and smile, beckon him to come inside. But he doesn't. He just watches, and every time Kurt shifts his head at all, he tries to work out if it's just coincidental that the rain is starting to look like tears rolling down porcelain cheeks.

And then Kurt freezes briefly, turns around and shouts a reply to whatever the person inside said to him. His soft voice sounds deeper than usual, and Blaine knows he could probably listen in if he wanted (the rain isn't _that _loud) but he's intruded enough as it is.

Kurt flicks his cigarette into a puddle in the balcony. Goes inside before Blaine can pluck up the courage to tap on the window, wave his hand and smile, beckon him to come inside.

And in the following week? Blaine enjoys dinner with the happy couple next door a total of three times, once in his own flat and twice at theirs.

They're the same as before. Kurt's still flamboyant and Aaron's still vivacious.

But Blaine notices the things they previously managed to mask with their vibrancy.

He wonders how he didn't notice the way Kurt seems to pick at his (smaller) portion of food. He wonders how he didn't notice the way Aaron is always in control of the conversation, steering Kurt's responses. He definitely didn't notice the way Kurt lets it happen, as if it's second nature to him.

The answer comes to him with tragic simplicity.

Because Kurt is always _smiling_. And it's unnerving. And the couple's laughs mingle into a pleasant song at every joke and anecdote and discussion. The love is so evident it's almost painful to watch.

And it makes Blaine's blood boil.

_("I hate it! I fucking hate it! Stop it, please! Just-no! I won't calm down! You can't come home and…you wanted pizza? You know how you get pizza? You fucking tell me! That's how! I'm not going to listen to this. No! You can't make- Stop it! Just stop it, please! Just stop! I'm sorry, ok?")_

Occasionally (not every time, but sometimes) Blaine hears a door slam, and footsteps down the corridor.

The first time it happens, he's talking to his mother on the phone. She's worried about him (working too much; eating too little - the same old motherly worries) and he's reassuring her.

He moves from his bedroom to the living room when he hears the telltale signs of an escalating fight from next door.

He hums and mutters and chats with his mother, and forgets all about his neighbours as she tells him all about his nephew learning to say _hippopotamus _correctly, and he promises his mother that he'll call Cooper and sort things (they've fallen out again.) He smiles as she bids him goodnight, makes him swear he's eating plenty one more time, and ends the call with a _bzzz _of the tone.

The apartment is filled with silence until Blaine registers the argument next door, behind the wall his bed is resting against.

He can't decide if it's sadistic or masochistic of him to refuse to at least move the bed to the other side of the room.

He returns to his bedroom in time to hear a parting shout (something along the lines of a _well fuck you too_; ironic, really, how close it is to _I love you too_) and a door slams. Footsteps thunder down the corridor, he almost worries they'll wake up old Mrs Weatherby (she's sick, she can't afford to not get a full night's sleep) but he forgets about the old lady down the corridor fast.

Because for the first time he hears quiet whimpers coming from behind the wall.

They're too high pitched to be Aaron, too soft and broken. Blaine wonders if it's possible for a heart to shatter over a relationship that isn't his own. And though Kurt will never know it, Blaine stays up with the young man next door, listening to his cries until they gulp and choke their way into sleep. A silent, invisible presence just _being there _for him.

When he doesn't see Aaron for three days (but passes a cold, distant Kurt several times) he begins to wonder if the couple are no more. Blaine can't explain the bubble of something stirring in his stomach at that thought.

He's wrong, though. Aaron returns.

And if Blaine can hear their arguments, is it really so surprising that he can hear their other passions, too? Is it surprising that Blaine hides under his duvet, ipod in his ears, desperate for sleep, avoiding the sighs and moans of ecstasy coming from behind his bedroom wall?

The only real surprise is the sickly taste of livid envy, acidic on Blaine's tongue as he thinks about it.

_("And the next time I tell you to do something? You fucking do it! Alright? Take your tears and fuck right off with them. I can't be bothered dealing you tonight. Don't even think about it! Get off that fucking bed before I drag you to the sofa myself. I don't even want to be in the same room as you right now. How the fuck do you expect me to share a bed?")_

Over a quiet coffee Blaine talks with Kurt. They talk about old dreams and musicals and life in Ohio (coincidence much?) and families. Kurt informs him that he's going home (to Lima, to a father, to a stepmother and stepbrother) for a few days.

Kurt says he needs to get away for a little while, and Blaine wants nothing more than to agree wholeheartedly with that statement. If someone deserves a chance to get away, it's Kurt.

But Blaine doesn't say that. He just nods, raises his eyebrows, says _Oh! Really? Wow. I'll miss our coffee chats._

Which is true. He will miss their coffee dates. But he can't say dates, because he doesn't want to make their tender friendship uncomfortable.

It's already awkward enough to ignore Kurt's long sleeved shirts and signature scarves. It's already awkward enough to not let things slip…_oh, by the way, I heard something hit the wall on the other side of my bedroom last night - was it your body, or just the lamp again?_

They drink their coffee and it's the most relaxing part of Blaine's day. When he returns home, feeds Jasmine and ruffles her scruff fondly, he wonders if this is what falling in love is like. Saying goodbye to someone and missing them five minutes later.

According to romance authors it is, at least.

Only, Blaine doesn't know what to do with this revelation. Because Kurt's beautiful eyes are cold, and his beautiful face is a statue, and his beautiful body isn't just wrapped up in layers of clothing, but also in walls that distance himself from everybody (even Blaine) and Blaine is worried he'll never find out the truth.

He's afraid he'll never know how Kurt really feels about him.

Ignorance is bliss, right?

He tells himself exactly that. And then he takes his guitar into the bedroom, aware (with a confusing mixture of relief and regret) that he won't be disturbed by an argument tonight because Kurt is at home (Lima, father, stepmother and stepbrother) so unless Aaron wants to argue with the wardrobe, quiet is guaranteed.

But Blaine is wrong.

It's almost half past one in the morning when he's aware of noises next door.

His guitar is loose in lazy hands, papers full of lyrics and notes are scattered everywhere, stubbed pencils litter the floor. He's leaning against the wall.

It's too obvious to block out. A series of unmistakable grunts and groans that peak with euphoria, husky Aaron and another, rougher and deeper and full of explicit profanities that are bellowed until they ring in Blaine's ears, and he wants to throw up. Purge himself of the memory.

How does he look Kurt in the eye and cover for a man he loathes? Vivacious Aaron with his infectious chuckle and out-there personality, and yet Blaine hates him more every day.

But at the same time, how does Blaine tell Kurt the truth? It's bitchy, and it's petty, and it's nosy, and it's gossipy. Admitting he heard this would be admitting her heard everything else.

Blaine's too much of a coward to do that.

_(The worst part is that the love between them just doesn't go away. He can hear the hatred and the terror - the truth. But he can see the love when they're together, and he can't deny that that is the truth, too. Love can be so simple, but this time it makes everything so much harder.)_

Blaine is scared to confront Kurt. Scared to call him out on it.

When they reach the closest they ever come to letting it out in the open, Kurt walks out, spitting words from his sharp tongue and then saying nothing for almost a week. Their little spat never really resolves. Blaine never really apologises for his nosiness and Kurt never really apologises for his defensiveness.

They just start talking again. And Blaine doesn't dare say it out loud. Ever.

But sometimes he gives Kurt a look.

It's not much, but Kurt can read it in his deep hazel eyes. The look.

_I know_, it says. _I know, and I want to help_.

It says more than that.

It says _I know, and I want to help, but you have to come to me for it; you have to let me help you_.

Blaine knows Kurt understands him, can see it in the dark blush of his cheeks and the way he looks down at his cup of coffee.

They never say it, though.

_(Does his family know? Do they see bruises and question him? Do they hear him cry and question him? Does he tell them he fell down the stairs? Or are they oblivious?)_

Over a series of months, Blaine notices that Kurt always visits Lima.

He's seen pictures of Kurt's friends and family, heard enough stories about them to feel as if he grew up with Kurt. But they never visit.

He almost asks Kurt about that, but decides not to. Because maybe it's nothing.

The father had a heart attack, right?

Maybe he can't travel far, or New York life is just too stressful once he gets here.

The stepbrother's a footballer, right?

Maybe he just can't take the time out (don't think about the fact that football is a seasonal sport.)

The friends moved far and wide, right?

They probably all just congregate in their safe base: Lima, Ohio. No need to fly far and wide to New York and Los Angeles and Chicago and Washington and wherever else they are, when they could all put in the effort to get to once basic place.

Blaine manages to convince himself surprisingly well. Just like he manages to convince himself that Jasmine's whines when there are fights next door are a coincidence, and not because she can smell the fear coming from behind the wall.

He guiltily ignores how closely her noises mingle with the soft whimpers from a slender figure on the other side of that tissue paper wall.

_("Just…no…put it down. Now. Don't! Fuck! What was that for? Back the fuck off! I didn't even- He's my friend! Blaine is my friend! I'm allowed friends, aren't I? No! I'd never…I swear I've never! I won't…you can't make me stop seeing him! He's just a friend!")_

Blaine doesn't like it when he hears his name in the fights. He doesn't like to think he's making Kurt's life harder.

Beyond the discomfort is the sickly sadness pooling inside him when over and over the same thing beats in his skull - _just a friend just a friend just a friend - _and his insides burn with white hot rage when Aaron dares accuse Kurt of cheating, after the time (multiple times) he overheard Aaron take advantage of Kurt's absence to fill the emptiness with any number of guys.

And there's the little person in his head (the bad person) that just wants to seduce Kurt and show him what love really is. What his life could be, if only he'd leave that brute of a man behind.

But Blaine doesn't want to manipulate Kurt.

He hates it, but he has no control here.

And he's bitter at Kurt, because why doesn't Kurt just walk away? There's no ring on his finger, no legal documents binding him to Aaron (the apartment? Maybe, but still…) so why stay?

The answer is sickeningly simple, though.

It's obvious when Blaine is invited for dinner one evening (he always accepts; maybe he's hoping Aaron will harm Kurt in his presence and grant him the catalysing spark to finally give Aaron a beating of his own) because Kurt is laughing, and smiling. And Aaron kisses his cheek so sweetly when he knows Blaine is looking (marking his territory?) and the air is filled with love and happiness and exuberance.

But as they sit in living room and debate music over glasses of wine once the dishes are left in the sink, Blaine can't help but notice a shut door. It's the bedroom door, and Blaine's insides cringe when he thinks about that. About what goes on in that room (and he's not even thinking about the sex) and his utter lack of control over it, too.

And he feels guilty, because what would it take to just go over there and confront the bastard? Blaine's a boxer (for aggression, sure, but he's still got the moves and the strength) so he can't exactly be intimidated, even if Aaron is quite a bit taller than him. He feels guilty because Kurt doesn't have too small an ego to do it himself - he just doesn't have an ego at all anymore. He feels guilty because at some point (before Blaine had moved to New York) Kurt probably still fought back, and now he needs someone to do it for him.

And Blaine can't step up to fill that role.

Blaine used to lie in bed at night and fantasise about a music career and a Broadway dream; about travelling Europe and exploring the Middle East. Now he lies in bed and thinks about ways he could get Kurt out from behind the wall.

He judges himself, the same way Lucy White from down the hall judges him with her eyes as they talk about noisy drunks outside and New York traffic. She knows he lives next door, and unlike her, he probably could do something, if only he had the courage.

And in fantasy it's such a good idea. Be the shining knight on the noble steed that rescues Kurt from the cruel man whose claws are in too deep. But in reality?

These things just _don't happen_.

Not the abuse (that happens all the time) but the saving part. The saving part never happens.

And why?

Because people like Blaine Anderson want to help, but don't know how.

_("Think you. Can go. Behind. My back? Huh? Need me to remind you who's the boss here, _sweetheart_? Need me to teach you a lesson like some mutt? Because so help me I will. I fucking tired of this shit. Fuck sake. Get back here. I said get back here now! You will listen to me, go it?")_

The strength to go behind the wall is born from a scream.

Because it's not shouted words or cries of frustration or the smash of something being thrown.

It's just a scream.

A scream and begging (he's never begged before, not really) for whatever is going on to _just stop, please, please just stop_. A plea to _please, don't do this_.

Screams and begging and Blaine can't forget it this time. Can't play his guitar or his ipod, or hop into the shower like all the other times to deafen the noise. Because it's not a fight, and there's bile in Blaine Anderson's throat because he can only think of one thing that would cause slight and slender, proud and dignified Kurt Hummel to scream like that.

He grips his pillow so hard his nails bite and shred the cotton case. Jasmine, usually so quiet, is growling and muffling her whining under the bed. And Blaine just wants to run in there and stop it.

So he does.

He leaves his front door open, pulls at his neighbours' door with desperate fury. Faces are looking out into the corridor from the closest apartments, and there's no way anyone in the corridor can't hear it now. They watch unhelpfully as Blaine pushes his shoulder against the hard wood.

But one steps out, Mr Gregory Issett, with a kid of six or seven years no doubt safely tucked in bed. Blaine can't word his thanks, just nods as they lift up one foot each and kick hard.

The building's doors are flimsy, in one go it flies open.

Blaine runs in first.

Doesn't see the furniture or the walls or the empty bottles littering the floor or anything. Just the next door to kick down, which he does on his own, though Greg is close behind.

And he sees but doesn't pause to acknowledge two naked bodies, hands grappling, legs kicking; limbs pinned, connected at the hips.

He just grabs at the tanned shoulders, ripping at skin and pulling until his fingers remember how to clench, form a fist, and the fist remembers the feel of impact against a nose. A jaw. An eye. A stomach.

And he can't bring himself to stop, even when Greg Issett (kind Mr Greg Issett who Blaine once babysat for when he was desperate) joins in. For the first time since Blaine moved to New York, for the first time since he overheard a fight from behind the wall, Aaron (can't remember the surname; not worth remembering the surname) is just a human being. Just a bullying man who can be broken, too.

And Blaine Anderson relishes it.

He hits until the anger dies and his ears are aware of sobs stifled by a pillow pressed against a face. He steps away from object of his hate (unconscious by now, anyway; no threat) and turns back to the bed.

Beneath the blood and sweat and dirt he can see porcelain skin (it's all he can see) and when he scoops the trembling figure into his arms he resists Kurt's fighting. Feels guilty about making him afraid again, but the protests become whimpers, and neither young man can find it in their hearts to be humiliated as they rock _forward back forward back forward back _to the rhythm of Kurt Hummel's cries.

.

.

They're still curled together, naked and dressed, crying and reassuring, fearful and protective, when a police officer arrives. And he's uninterested, because he sees plenty of cases like this. But there's usually a man and a woman, and it's hard to take a case seriously when a man's the victim.

He takes the unconscious one on the floor away. He'll probably be kept in overnight at best. He offers the 'victim' (nearly scoffs at the that, Blaine can see it in his face and hear it in his voice) a chance to report and have an ambulance called. And Blaine argues when Kurt shakes his head into his chest, but that's enough for a police officer who just wants to get home to bed and get some sleep.

Even Greg Issett looks ready to speak up, but he has a son to think of. He can't get involved. He just goes back to his apartment, but returns before Blaine can complain about him not staying longer. With nothing but concern and acceptance and sympathy in his eyes, Greg hands the two men a blanket.

Blaine shifts and wraps it around Kurt, declines Greg's offer of a hand and carries the taller but slighter man out of one apartment and into the other next door. Carries him straight to the bed. Slips two sleeping pills into a drink of water, and once he's out, sponge baths him clean.

It's not much, but at least when he wakes up he'll be free of the smell from last night. Blood and sweat and terror.

.

.

It's not over. But one day it will be.

Blaine will be able to kiss Kurt's head softly without receiving a flinch in return, and Kurt will be able to curl in bed beside Blaine without being haunted with flashbacks. And when they argue (which won't be often) it will be over mutual, understandable things, like the traditional _what colour do we paint the bedroom? _argument.

And they'll never _fight_.

And Blaine will probably always wonder what would have happened if he hadn't moved into the flat next door.

And Kurt will probably always wonder what would have happened if Blaine hadn't been able to hear them from behind the wall.

.

.

_("It's raining. Let's go outside. Yeah! Let's run around in the rain. No, don't change. We'll just go out in shorts and shirts. We'll be fine. Yeah, but I love you. We can pretend to be Gene Kelly and dance in the puddles. Really? Come on then. Let's go.")_


End file.
